


sea begins to slide

by technorat



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Road Trips, minor Natasha Romanov, minor T'challa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-07 21:28:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6825034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/technorat/pseuds/technorat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Bucky don't stick to one place for too long of a time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sea begins to slide

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EroEmo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EroEmo/gifts).



TREASURE ISLAND, FLORIDA

 

His hair smells like limes and lemons and a hint of sandalwood as he leans over to take a look at the tablet, courtesy of Tony. (A small _sorry about the arm!_ note had been attached to it in the package it came in. Bucky had sniffed, handed it to Steve, looked away.) His hair smells good considering all he's been using is the cheap shampoo the cheaper motel provided them with.

“What's the plan?” he asked, voice gruff. Bucky hadn't taken a sip of his coffee just yet, practically sludge for how much sugar and milk he dumped into it.

Steve shrugs, rolling his shoulders. He taps the screen of the tablet with too much force, looking at those pictures tourists so casually had taken. After this brief stop in Florida, he isn't sure where to go. Natasha had suggested this motel particularly. The maid did not seem to realize or even care who the two men were, often grumbling to herself in Russian. (Bucky smiled when she said something. When Steve asked, he would not translate for him.)

“We could always go to Disney,” Steve suggests, offhand and jokingly.

Bucky stares at him for a moment, lashes long and full and brushing his cheekbones when he blinks. “Really?” he says, soft and hopeful.

Steve can't take it back now.

 

ORLANDO, FLORIDA

 

After some quiet debate, they end up buying Park Hopper tickets. Steve wanted to see Hollywood Studios and Bucky wanted to see the Magic Kingdom; and debating was futile between them. (Steve would easily give up. He didn't know Bucky would do the same.)

It's hot.

Both wear hoodies. Steve rolls back the sleeves of his hoodie to his elbows. Bucky does not. Though he's received a new, and improved, arm—one with a holographic function to make it seem as if he's not walking around with a limb made of metal—he feels self-conscious.

Steve wears his hair down, straw-colored fringe brushing softly against his forehead. Hanging on his hoodie is a pair of sunglasses. Somewhere, in his backpack, he has two baseball caps—one for himself and one for Bucky.

Bucky has made a more dramatic change in the time they've spent wandering. For one thing, he's taken up the habit of shaving again. His cheeks look smooth and almost soft; Steve doesn't dare to reach out and to verify his thought. His hair, still smelling of limes and lemons and a hint of sandalwood, is tied up and away from his face.

He looks so different, but it's still Bucky.

Together, they stand on line to meet and greet a costumed performer. (“It's silly,” Bucky had said, smile apparent in his eyes. “It's fun,” Steve corrected.) The line is not too unbearably long, especially not for them.

The cloaked and masked figure stands to says something, the voice changer in his mask distorting his words.

Still, they're both impressed.

It was just a week ago when Steve had forced Bucky into marathoning the entirety of Star Wars, including the newest one, all digital copies stored on their tablet.

Besides, Kylo Ren and Bucky had something in common, Steve had joked, bumping his shoulder against his friend's. They were both into choking as an offensive maneuver.

Bucky tapes the photograph in a composition notebook, one of several. Dutifully, he jots down his thoughts on the day. A strand of hair has fallen out of Bucky's ponytail; Steve reaches out and tucks it behind his ear.

Looking away, Steve grabs the steering wheel, tapping his fingers against the wheel to the tune of the oldie that plays. Steve hums too and the drive back to their rundown motel is not too far.

 

BATH, ENGLAND

 

“Steve,” Thor says, a grin stretching across his face. Despite this, he looks older, more self-assured in his powers and in his responsibilities. “And, you must be James.”

Bucky looked away, awkward. He returned his eyes to his plate, moving around the sad lumps of the microwaveable meal. It's mashed potatoes. With gravy. Doesn't taste like it though. “Call me Bucky,” he finally says, swallowing what he chewed.

“Bucky then,” Thor says. He's arrived first, just as promised. He turns to Steve, who eats out of a styrofoam cup, noodles tangled with sweet corn and carrots. “Jane will meet us soon. She could not get out of work early.”

Steve smiles. “That's fine. She has a lot on her hands.”

Jane's research has taken her and her assistants to Bath. Thor had only happened to arrive at the same time. It's because of Jane's research that they managed to take out the house. It's a lovely little brick and mortar kind of house, completely capturing an old-world feel.

Thor looks at their food, disapproval crossing his face for the moment.

“Friends, you should eat like kings!” he says, hands sliding onto the table with a bit too much noise. Both Thor and Steve pretend to not notice Bucky flinch. “Come, come. I will cook something for you both.”

Thor leaves the living room and heads to the attached kitchen, throwing open the refrigerator and the cabinets, finding almost nothing.

As expected, Thor only shakes his head, remarking what appetites his friends had.

“I will go to the grocery store,” he decides, not bothering to ask what either individual wants. Thor thinks he knows best.

Bucky's hair still smells of limes and lemons and sandalwood.

Outside, it won't stop raining.

 

NICE, FRANCE

 

They rent a hotel room just a walk away from the beach. Natasha was the one to find it and recommend it. (She had smiled then, lips twisted, a sly look on her face. Oh the things she had done in France so long ago.)

“What do you think?” says Steve, careful not to be too quiet when walking behind Bucky.

He turns away, letting his hand drop from the curtains. “Nice view,” says Bucky, smiling. It's a warm day, not a cloud to be seen. The blue of the ocean is captivating; almost as captivating as Steve's eyes, Bucky thinks.

Steve nods, lets himself walk a few paces forward. “Want to go for a walk then?”

The Cote d'Azur remains that breathtaking blue.

Steve walks into the water's path, letting the waves roll against his feet, licking up his ankles. In one hand, he holds his flip-flops. The sand is smooth and warm underneath his feet. Even the air is pleasant and calming. He looks to Bucky, a grin crossing his face.

Though they are on a beach, Bucky hasn't taken off his hoodie; instead, he's put his hands into his pockets. He stands, watches.

Steve bends low and picks up a shell, tossing it to the other man.

Out of instinct, Bucky catches it with his mechanical hand.

He shifts it around in his grip. It's rougher on the outside, a golden brown. The inside is more of a muted yellow. The shell is in one piece.

Bucky holds it to his ear.

“Can you hear the ocean?” Steve calls.

Bucky snorts, but can't stop his smile from growing.

Steve kicks a leg out, trying to splash Bucky with the warm ocean wave. This civil war dissolves into laugher and good spirits soon enough.

 

PROVENCE, FRANCE

 

They really hadn't meant to pull the spotlight onto themselves. They had just been passing through, staring at the beautiful fields of lavender.

Standing there, watching the flowers dance with the breeze, Steve's hand brushed against Bucky's knuckles.

Bucky stopped, reached out, snatched at Steve's shoulder. Their eyes met. Bucky nodded at a direction and Steve turned to look. “Looks suspicious,” he muttered, cap hiding the blue of his eyes. Standing so close to him, Steve could smell the scent rolling off his hair, the scent something like powder, and the musk of his aftershave.

Steve nods.

And when their suspicions prove correct, and the straw-haired man pulls out a loaded gun, both Steve and Bucky are ready for action.

They are not ready for the reactions of onlookers.

 

GNIEZNO, POLAND

 

The skies are grey and filled with clouds. Steve sits outside, at a table, an umbrella shielding him from nothing in particular. The hotel is not an especially busy on, especially not at this time of year.

Bucky tosses the newspaper onto the table.

The pages ruffle as it falls. On the cover, a blurry picture of Bucky and Steve, fighting off those would-be-terrorists in Paris. CAPTAIN AMERICA AND THE CRIMINAL JAMES BARNES SPOTTED?

Steve snorts, pops another blueberry into his mouth. They're wild blueberries, harvested from a forest of all things. “A tabloid?” he says. “Didn't think you'd be into them.”

“Where else would I read about the exploits of our lives?” he says, smiling toothily, even letting out an exhale of a laugh. Bucky sits across from him, pulling out the chair with a terrible hiss. “Smart phones are good these days,” he confesses. “Not good enough.” The picture on the cover is blurry enough that it will be dismissed within a few days.

“Did they fix the issue with our room?” Steve asks.

Bucky shakes his head. “Still only one bed.” He purses his lips, then chews at the bottom one. “At least it's a big bed,” he offers, still cocky. “Just don't bring any girls over, Steve,” he says, reaching out to slap at Steve's shoulder.

Steve laughs, a little too loud and a little too stiff.

 

WAKANDA

 

T'challa welcomes them easily, even if not all his people do. The Wakandans are an isolationist culture. Shuri, T'challa's younger sister, beams at them, amused by the men from the past. Their guards, the Dora Milaje do not find the once enemies too amusing.

“Enough,” T'challa says, “they will cause us no harm.”

The shaven headed woman nods. Her eyes are lined and dark. Her lips pull into a smirk. “Oh, they best hope not.”

T'challa laughs easily again, so comfortable around his people, having grown accustomed to the roles placed upon him.

In the library, they sit, fire crackling in the fireplace. Shuri lies down on the floor, close to the warmth, a books spread out in front of her; despite her appearances, she is paying attention, head cocked closer to her right side.

“The Avengers,” T'challa starts, “will soon be needed.” He leans against the top of a desk, hand resting against his jacket. Slowly, his fingers dance across the smooth surface of the table.

Steve and Bucky sit on the couch. They press together, knee to hip, the warmth stifling,

“Do we have word why?” asks Steve.

“Something is coming.” T'challa clears his throat. “A threat to humanity, not just the people of one country. It will fall on us to protect this world.”

Bucky smiles, bitter. “And how do you think the world will react?”

“They must accept us,” he says simply, which a shrug of his shoulders. Bucky hates how even this simple movement is almost regal when T'challa is the one to do it. “Without us, humanity will fall. They cannot bring us to court if civilization falls.”

 

It's still in Wakanda where Steve grits his teeth and presses a kiss to Bucky's chapped, dry lips.

It's still in Wakanda where Bucky wraps his arms around Steve's shoulders and pulls him close, laughing against smooth, soft lips when they end the kiss.

It's still in Wakanda where they are scolded for the display of affection in front of a child.

(Shuri tells them later that she really didn't mind, that she had suspected they were dating for a while. “Well, you did start a war to protect him,” she says, smiling cheekily from where she lies, jelly-boned, on the floor.

Steve could not even stop her, cheeks flushing red. In the moment, he felt like that sixteen-year old boy in Brooklyn once again.)

 


End file.
